by Cynthia Eden
The revving of a vehicle’s engine caught her attention. Her head jerked up. The BMW was still there.
Who in the hell revs a BMW? And if that was Dr. Leigh in that ride, then why wasn’t he coming to help?
The engine growled again. She couldn’t see past the tinted windows. Someone was in that SUV, pushing down the accelerator again and again because they wanted to catch her attention.
Bailey started to rise.
Spawn’s hand flew out and curled around her wrist, stopping her. “Sh-she’s . . . insane. Whatever he—he did in that cabin . . . that woman is crazy.”
He did the same things to me. “Stay calm,” Bailey said, even though the last thing she felt was calm.
“T-took my f-fucking camera!” His breath heaved out. He hadn’t even seemed to notice the BMW.
Bailey couldn’t look away from it.
Because someone else had come onto her street a few nights back, someone who’d revved a car’s engine . . .
And then came at me and Asher.
“I needed th-those pictures!”
“And I need you to stay quiet.”
The BMW’s driver’s side door began to open.
Bailey lunged to her feet and she brought up her gun. “Who are you?” she yelled. “Who are you?”
The door jerked closed. The engine revved again. Loud and angry, and then the vehicle shot away from the curb, tires squealing and the scent of burning rubber trailing in its wake. Bailey ran into the street, her eyes on the car, mentally repeating the tag number again and again and again.
The BMW didn’t slow at the stop sign. It whipped to the right and thundered away. Bailey stood there, in the middle of the street, her gun still gripped in her hand.
Spawn let out another ragged groan. “M-my camera . . .”
Like she cared about his camera right then. Bailey ran back to him. She put her hand on his side. “How long has this been bleeding?”
He hissed out a breath. “Off and . . . fuck . . . on. Started again . . . in the car . . .”
“Why didn’t you go to the hospital? Why come here?” He needed a doctor, not her.
Another low hiss of his breath. “Thought she’d . . . come for you . . . too . . .”
Bailey glanced back down her street. And a cold fist seemed to squeeze her heart. Maybe she did. Maybe that hadn’t been Dr. Leigh in the vehicle.
She stayed there with him, her gun close, until she heard the distinct growl of Asher’s motorcycle. She recognized that heavy sound instantly, hearing it long before she saw the one beam of his headlight turn onto her road. “Asher’s here,” she whispered.
“Don’t let h-him . . .” Spawn’s voice was weaker. “Kick my ass.”
“Then don’t do anything stupid, and he won’t.” She squeezed his hand.
She could hear the wail of a siren, coming closer in the distance. “The ambulance will be here soon. We’ll get you stitched up.”
His gaze was on her. “You . . . have to be c-careful . . .”
Bailey nodded. “I am.”
“Bailey!” Asher had braked his motorcycle and he was running toward her.
“No,” Spawn whispered. “Be careful . . . with him.”
Bailey had blood on her clothes, again.
Asher’s eyes narrowed as his gaze raked over her. The reporter had been taken away, loaded into the back of an ambulance, and rushed to the nearest hospital.
Wyatt was at the scene, and Ana was lingering close by.
The damn gang is all together.
“He told you that Carla Drake stabbed him?” Wyatt demanded.
Bailey nodded. She’d put her gun back inside before Wyatt had pulled up. The guy probably had no clue that sweet Bailey Jones had been armed and—from the look of her—more than ready to fire moments before. “He kept saying she’d stabbed him and taken his camera.” A faint smile curved her lips. “He seemed more upset about the camera than anything else.”
“Fuck.” Wyatt squeezed the bridge of his nose. “What is this woman doing? First the explosion, now the attack on Spawn . . .”
“He thought she might come after me.” Her hands balled into fists. She wore a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt, and Asher saw her shiver. “Spawn thought he was protecting me by coming here.”
Asher didn’t buy it. Spawn was hardly the protective type, and being a hero? He’s the last guy I’d expect. Asher slid out of his coat and wrapped it around Bailey’s shoulders.
“No, I could get blood on it—”
“I don’t care. I don’t want you cold.”
She gave him a quick smile.
That smile . . . shit, it did things to him. Even in the middle of that madness, Bailey got to him.
Deputy Ben ran toward the group. “Got a hit on that tag number!” He seemed out of breath. “Dr. Paul Leigh. He’s got a practice up in Asheville and a home here in Brevard . . .”
“He’s my shrink,” Bailey said.
“He’s her ex-shrink,” Asher added. “The asshole was here earlier, trying to get permission to use Bailey’s story in his book. He wanted her and Carla to talk with him.”
“Maybe that’s why he came back?” Wyatt seemed to consider this. “He wanted to talk more, but when he saw Spawn sprawled on the ground . . .”
“Wouldn’t a shrink try to jump in and help someone who was wounded?” It was Ana who spoke. “A psychiatrist has an MD. I would think a guy like that would rush to assist a downed man.”
“Only the driver of this car was just sitting out there, revving his engine.” Bailey licked her lips. “He only left when I approached him.”
When she’d . . . Asher’s eyes closed. “Bailey . . .”
“Get an APB out, right now,” Wyatt said. “I’ll be taking a team to the shrink’s house, but just in case he’s still running on the streets, I want him found.” His hands were on his hips. “I got some questions for the doctor.”
“So do I,” Asher stated. If he was out here, skulking in his car tonight . . . then maybe he was here before, too. They still didn’t know who’d nearly run them down just a few nights back, but with the way this case had taken a 180 straight to hell, Asher didn’t think they could ignore any details.
Is everything related? Is it all tied to the Death Angel?
Everything . . . tied to a dead man. A man who’d been buried without any real identity. Just the moniker of a monster.
“Get in line,” Wyatt told him flatly. “Shit . . . a dead girl, an attacked reporter, and a burning building. All within the first twenty-four hours of my new job.” He turned away. “This is a fucking nightmare.”
A nightmare that was just going to get worse.
Asher knew that Wyatt wanted someone to answer for the crimes. He didn’t want to face the same intense scrutiny that had driven the previous sheriff to—literally—run from his post.
When Wyatt walked away, Ana closed in on them. Her gaze swept over Bailey. “You okay?”
Bailey nodded. “Fine.”
She didn’t sound fine.
Bailey swiped her palm over her shorts and then offered her hand to Ana. “I’m Bailey, by the way. We didn’t, um, officially meet before.”
Ana shook her hand. “Ana.” Her gaze seemed worried as she stared at Bailey. “We can get you out of town, you know. LOST has connections all over the place. We can get you in a safe house until—”
“Until you catch Carla? Or is it Dr. Paul Leigh?” She pulled her hand back. “I guess I don’t know which one of them I’m supposed to fear now.”
Ana raised one brow. His sister had always been able to do that—lift just the one brow, all schoolteacher style. “I’d say it’s wise to fear them both. At least until we can get answers.”
“I don’t want to sit around and wait.” Bailey focused on Asher. “If Wyatt is going to Paul’s house, then I say we go and check out his office. His office is the guy’s inner sanctum, always has been. So if he’s looking for a safe place to crash, he might have gone t
here, not to his house.”
Asher had thought the same thing. He nodded toward his bike. “How about we take a little ride?”
“Love to. Give me two minutes to change, and I am ready to go.” Then she ran into her house.
Ana waited a moment, probably to make sure that Bailey was gone, before she gave a low whistle. “You sure that’s wise? Taking her with you like that?”
“Leaving her damn sure isn’t an option.” He’d gone to the station for an hour and raced back, frantic to get to her side once more. “Besides, Bailey knows this guy. She can help me.”
“Don’t bullshit me. You aren’t taking her with you because of any help.”
“Ana . . .”
“You think I don’t see right through you? This is me. And we don’t have secrets between us.” She paused. “At least, we don’t usually have them.”
The front door flew open and Bailey hurried down the steps. She flashed Asher a wide smile. “See? I said I’d be fast.” She hurried toward his motorcycle. Asher started to follow her, but Ana grabbed his elbow.
“Seriously, Ash, what in the hell are you doing?” she whispered as her fingers dug into his skin. “That woman should be put in a safe house. Locked up and—”
“I have been locked up.” Bailey had frozen just a few feet away.
Mental note. Bailey has damn good hearing.
“I’ve been tied up, locked away, and it’s something I never want to experience again.”
“Bailey . . .” Asher began, trying to keep his voice gentle. “That’s not what Ana meant.”
“I know what she meant. A safe house.” Her smile broke his heart. “Haven’t you noticed it yet, Asher? I’ve been in my own prison—my own safe house—for months. And I’ll go crazy if I have to stay there much longer.” She inclined her head toward him. “I want to help. I want to find this guy. I want to stop being afraid and take my life back. Once upon a time, I was the woman who fought a killer.”
You still are that woman.
“I’m not going to be the woman who lives in fear any longer.” Then she marched toward his bike, threw one leg over the seat, and straddled that baby like a pro. She grabbed the helmet and glanced back at him once more. “You coming?”
I think I could love that woman.
A fast, reckless, and incredibly dangerous thought.
Ana’s hand still gripped his elbow. “Oh, hell,” she said, voice even softer than before. “It’s too late, isn’t it?”
Too late to pull away from Bailey? Yes, it was.
He stalked toward the bike. “You know how to drive a motorcycle?”
“Had a license for years.” Her hand trailed lightly over the handlebars. “My dad used to own a bike similar to this one. Nothing like riding it on the open road.”
“You are full of surprises.”
“You have no idea.”
He wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about her.
“But it’s your bike,” Bailey said as she slid back, making room for him. “So you drive. I’ll give you directions to Paul’s office.”
He eased onto the motorcycle, and then Bailey pressed close behind him. Her arms wrapped around his waist and he felt the light crush of her breasts against his back. Asher had the bike revving to life and when he started to take off, he told her, “Hold tighter.”
She did.
The bike spun around, and they got the hell away from the scene.
Ana watched Asher vanish into the night. Typical Asher, going too fast and heading straight into danger.
Only this time, it wasn’t a physical danger . . .
Oh, Ash. I heard the way your voice changed when you talked to her. I saw the way you looked at her.
For the first time in years, her brother was on the verge of losing his control. He always held himself so carefully in check, never allowed for any emotional entanglements because he didn’t want weakness . . .
But he was in too deep with Bailey Jones. She could even see why those two had connected. Survivors, both with bloody pasts. They probably understood each other.
Or maybe . . . maybe Bailey thought she understood Asher.
You don’t. I don’t even understand him. I just know that he can be dangerous.
After all, a girl never forgot the sight of her brother killing to protect her.
Killing . . . and smiling.
“Where did they go?”
Ah, that would be Wyatt. The stand-up sheriff who’d also looked at Bailey with a little too much emotion in his eyes. Ana made a point of noticing stuff like that. She was no profiler, nothing at all like Sarah Jacobs, the crazy-on-target lady who profiled killers at LOST, but Bailey could read folks pretty well. She looked for undercurrents between people, little signs of emotion.
Because, in Bailey’s experience, emotion was always key. Most crimes weren’t committed coldly, no matter what the news wanted people to believe.
Cold-blooded murder? Not a thing. Passion was involved. Emotions.
The men who’d taken her and Asher had certainly been about emotions. They’d laughed while Ana bled. They’d loved the pain they inflicted. Sick, twisted emotions and—
“Where did your brother go?” Wyatt asked again. His hands were on his hips once more. Was that supposed to be one of his power stances? How adorable.
“I suspect they went to track down the not-so-good doctor Paul Leigh.”
His eyes became slits. “You suspect?”
She rolled one shoulder in a careless shrug. Suspect. Know. What difference does it make? “Asher wanted to question this guy. I think he believes if you get to Leigh first, then he won’t have his chance.”
“This is an official investigation.” Now he looked even angrier. “LOST has no kind of jurisdiction here. He needs to stay out of my way.”
“LOST has a pretty good record when it comes to closing cases.” She gave him a wide smile. “And as far as jurisdiction is concerned, a little bird told me that the FBI will be swooping in soon here. Seems they didn’t like the news coverage and they want to make sure a serial killer isn’t hunting in the area once more.”
“A little bird?” He seemed to be choking a bit on those words.
She gave another half-shrug. “A bird, a LOST agent who happens to be former FBI . . . whatever you want to call it.” Dean Bannon had been the LOST agent in question. While he might not work for the Bureau any longer, he still had a few reliable sources there—sources who’d tipped him off about agents who were fast-tracking their way to little Brevard. “If you don’t move quickly,” Ana warned him, “you may find yourself sidelined.”
He yelled for Deputy Ben. The guy came running. Ana began to back away. She had some leads of her own to—
Wyatt’s hand curled around her wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Away from here?” She let her smile widen a bit more. Men were easy. Smiles often confused or disarmed them. She knew what she looked like. Delicate. Not a threat.
So wrong.
Many men had made the mistake of underestimating her. She liked for them to make that mistake. It makes things so much easier for me. So go ahead, underestimate away.
“What are you holding back?” Wyatt asked her.
Her eyes widened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He swore. “Yeah, you do.” But then he jogged to the waiting patrol car. Obviously, the hunt was on for Dr. Leigh. His siren blasted as he and Deputy Ben drove away.
Ana squared her shoulders. She had her own stop to make . . . a little side trip back to the sheriff’s station where she intended to charm her way into a look at the old Death Angel case files. LOST’s profiler would be there first thing in the morning, and Ana couldn’t wait to see if Sarah had any new insight into the serial killer. Maybe they’d compare notes.
Chapter Thirteen
Asher braked the motorcycle and shoved down the kickstand. The bike’s snarling engine echoed in the empty parking garage. His gaze s
lowly trekked around the scene, noting all the dark corners and shadows.
Asher killed the engine.
“He’s not here,” Bailey said, voice tight. “Maybe Wyatt will have better luck.”
Maybe. Or maybe the guy was in the wind. But if Paul Leigh was gone . . . Then let’s find out why the hell he’s acting so weird. And in Asher’s mind, stalking a patient—yes, that shit definitely counted as weird.
Asher glanced over his shoulder at her. “How do you feel about a little B&E?”
“Breaking and entering?” She had on her helmet, but the visor was up and she looked so damn cute. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” Because he wanted in Leigh’s office. That tell-all book? Asher suspected the guy had already started writing it, and he’d like to see just how many of those pages were filled with information from Bailey’s life.
Bailey took off her helmet, frowning at him. “I’ve never broken into anything.”
Why did that not surprise him? His fingers curled under her chin, and he just had to lean forward and press a quick kiss to her lips. “Sweetheart, if I don’t get in that office now, Wyatt will come swooping in.” Wyatt, or the FBI. Ana had already warned him that the Bureau gang was closing in. “If I want access to Leigh’s files, then I need to get them now.”
Her gaze searched his. “You mean my files, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Because he didn’t want that guy using anything of Bailey’s in that book.
Her gaze slid toward the elevator. “So we’re not really breaking and entering . . . we’re just taking what belongs to me.”
If that was how she wanted to think of it . . . sure. Asher kissed her again. This time, he let the kiss linger just a bit. He was such a bad influence on her. “Simple retrieval mission,” Asher murmured against her mouth. “I’ve done this dozens of times.”
He stood near the motorcycle and offered his hand to her. Bailey put her helmet down on the seat but frowned up at him. “You’ve broken into an office dozens of times?”
“Enemy camps. Isolated foreign offices . . .” He shrugged. “Trust me, those were much harder to access than this place.” A deserted office building would be a piece of cake. They’d be in and out in five minutes.